


New Addiction

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Knives Out (2019), Political Animals
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Male Character, M/M, Male Slash, Political Animals - Freeform, Smut, knives out - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Ransom might just give T.J. a run for his money.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Thomas "T.J." Hammond
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80





	New Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> Knives Out/Political Animals crossover. This came out of nowhere one day and it wouldn’t get out of my head. So, here it is. Sorry, not sorry. 

They’d been dancing around it since they’d met, playing a game T.J. wasn’t used to playing. He usually got what he wanted from men, any man that looked twice at him anyway. And Ransom had looked. And looked. And looked again.

T.J. had noticed him looking, too. The first time he’d seen him, Ransom had been sitting in the back of the club, at a huge table, alone, his eyes on T.J. Boring holes in T.J.

It wasn’t anything new, men staring at him. His ass looked good in the leather pants and he knew it. He made sure to put an extra wiggle in it when he crossed the dance floor and headed for the bar. He ordered another drink, turned around, and propped his elbows on the mahogany bar, locking eyes with the man in the booth.

He was attractive, really attractive. Strong jaw, broad and muscular, aloof. He hadn’t moved from his seat all night, just sat and watched the room, as if he was holding court, downing drink after drink. Watching, waiting, drinking expensive liquor, tipping the waitress with fifty dollar bills.

“Who’s the guy in the booth?” T.J. asked Jimmy, the bartender, shouting the question over his shoulder.

Jimmy tossed the cloth he was using into the sink behind him then he leaned on the bar beside T.J. “His name’s Ransom,” Jimmy said. “He’s a trust fund kid; his grandfather is some rich author, writes mysteries or something. He comes in here every few months when he’s looking for something new.” Jimmy poked T.J. in the arm. “Looks like you might be his something new.” Jimmy laughed and wandered away.

T.J. made him wait. He wasn’t an easy lay. He might enjoy the occasional hook-up - okay, he loved the occasional hook-up - but T.J. Hammond didn’t throw himself at anyone. So, he waited.

Around midnight, the man in the booth caught T.J.’s eye, raised an eyebrow, and crooked a finger at him. T.J. ordered another drink before sauntering across the room and sliding into the booth across from Ransom.

They spent the rest of the night talking, shallow, mundane stuff that meant nothing. Around three, when Jimmy had started to give them the “get the fuck out” look, Ransom scribbled his number on a napkin and slid it across the table. Then without another word, he walked out of the club without looking back, leaving T.J. with his mouth hanging open. No one ever walked away from him. He crumpled the napkin in his hand and shoved it in his front pocket. 

Maybe he’d have to stay in Massachusetts a little bit longer, see if Ransom wanted to get to know him better. He must, otherwise, he wouldn’t have given T.J. his number.

He waited a week before he called Ransom.

* * *

They met at the club, sat in the same booth, this time squeezed together side by side, knees touching, barely any space between them.

“I didn’t think you’d call,” Ransom said.

“I wasn’t going to,” T.J. muttered. “But, I was bored.”

“Me, too,” Ransom shrugged.

They were both lying.

They drank in silence for a while, a comfortable silence. T.J. inhaled, the spicy musk of Ransom’s cologne filling his head. He grabbed his drink and drank it in several swallows. He closed his eyes and tried to think about something besides Ransom’s full pink lips and what they might feel like on his bare skin. He might want to get laid, badly, but he wasn’t going to be the one to make a move. He wanted to see what Mr. Trust Fund would do. 

When Ransom slung an arm over the back of the seat, his fingers brushing the back of T.J.’s neck, T.J. shivered, despite the heat pulsing through his veins. He blew out a stuttering breath and turned to Ransom, intent on talking about something, anything, to keep himself from ducking under the table and making Ransom’s night.

Before he could say so much as ‘boo’, Ransom’s mouth was on his, his hand on the back of T.J.’s neck, pulling him in, the kiss deepening so fast it made T.J.’s head spin. Ransom edged closer, his hand slipping between T.J.’s legs, his knuckles grazing his cock. Now, not only was his head spinning, but all the blood was rushing south, making it impossible to think straight.

“Fuck,” he breathed when they broke apart.

“Later, T.J.” Then the fucker got up and left him sitting in the booth, half-hard and undeniably horny.

He rested his head against the back of the seat, swearing under his breath. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe Ransom wasn’t such a great idea.

Another week passed. They didn’t talk, but they texted. A lot. Nothing epic or earth-shattering, just weird random stuff, stuff that made T.J. laugh. Ransom was kind of a jerk, but T.J. liked it.

He liked it even more when a late night round of texting turned to sexting.

T.J. was high or drunk or both, he couldn’t remember for sure, and Ransom was giving him hell, teasing him, pushing his buttons. Then it changed.

_Do you know how bad I want to fuck you?_

That came out of the blue, completely unexpected. Not that he didn’t like it. Not that he hadn’t imagined it, every fucking night since they’d met. But neither one of them had ever voiced it. Until now. T.J. blew out a shaky breath and shot back an answer.

_Then why don’t you?_

It took an eternity for Ransom to reply.

_Take off your pants._

Thus followed an insane, crazy hour that ended with T.J. blowing his wad over his bare stomach and pictures out in the stratosphere that would make his mother’s head explode if they ever leaked.

* * *

It was Friday night, a little after seven, and T.J. was trying to decide between going to the club or staying home and getting high when his phone rang. He figured it was his mom or maybe Dougie checking up on him - again - so he didn’t even look at it when he picked it up.

It was Ransom.

He didn’t bother with niceties. “You busy?”

“No.”

“Come over,” he said. “I’ll text you the address.”

Any protest T.J. might have had was quelled by Ransom’s next words.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

A half an hour later, T.J. parked outside the large glass house, the black SUV his security team drove parking thirty feet behind him. They got out of the car when he got out of his, but he waved them off with an irritated look and knocked on Ransom’s door.

“What’s with the bodyguards?” Ransom greeted him, one perfect eyebrow raised.

“Mom insists,” T.J. shrugged.

“Mom?”

“Elaine Barrish,” T.J. muttered. “My mom.”

“Hm, interesting,” Ransom said. He waited for T.J. to cross the threshold before slamming the door shut behind him, then he led him through the sprawling glass monstrosity he called a house to the living room.

There was food on the table, a lot of it, more than the two of them could eat. There was also alcohol, a lot of alcohol. Ransom sat on the couch, gesturing for T.J. to sit beside him, and picked up a bottle of beer. 

They ate in silence, but the tension was there, the sexual tension; T.J. could feel it, thick in the air, like a living, breathing thing. Ransom kept licking his lips, his eyes occasionally drifting over T.J.’s body, burning red hot. T.J. wanted it to be something other than Ransom’s eyes on his body.

“What are we doing, T.J.?” Ransom asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” T.J. replied innocently.

Ransom leaned forward, his knees on his elbows. He stared at T.J., his blue eyes twinkling. “You know why I invited you over, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” T.J. shrugged. “Hoping to get laid?”

“What are you saying?”

Ransom chuckled under his breath and shook his head, then he dropped his beer on the table and crawled across the couch until he was hovering over T.J., his lips just inches away from T.J.’s. He reached past him to snatch something off the table, then his fingers were tracing T.J.’s lips, softly, delicately.

“Open up,” he ordered.

T.J. parted his lips and Ransom slipped something into his mouth, under his tongue, where it started to dissolve almost immediately. Then his mouth was on T.J.’s, his knee between T.J.’s legs, and dammit, it felt good. His hands were on Ransom’s waist, pulling him closer, sliding up under his sweater, groaning low in the back of his throat when Ransom’s hips pressed into his.

T.J.’s head was spinning and not just from whatever Ransom had slipped into his mouth. All the blood in his body had rushed to his dick and it was throbbing, pulsing, desperate for Ransom to touch him. His skin tingled, his heart raced, every sense seemed heightened.

But Ransom didn’t notice - or more likely didn’t care - how desperately T.J. needed his touch. His lips were on T.J.’s throat, his hips rocking against T.J.’s. He could feel the hard length of Ransom’s arousal pressing against him. He wanted to rip the clothes from his body and feel Ransom filling him, using him, fucking him.

That last thought sent him over the edge, had him gripping Ransom’s shoulders and shoving him away, pushing him onto his back on the couch, all manspread out, his cheeks pink, his lips kiss swollen. T.J. ripped open his jeans and shoved his stupid sweater up over his stomach, his head dropping to press wet kisses down his stomach, following his treasure trail to where he most wanted to be; with his head between Ransom’s legs, the head of his cock brushing against his lips.

T.J. wrapped his hand around Ransom, stroking his substantial length, swiping his thumb across the tip, watching him through half-hooded eyes as he slowly ran his tongue around the head of Ransom’s cock, intent on seeing his reaction. Ransom groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his fingers tangling in T.J.’s hair. He did it again, just to see Ransom’s reaction.

“T.J.,” he growled, his jaw twitching.

He pulled Ransom into his mouth, sliding his lips down his length, twirling his tongue as he went. When T.J.’s mouth met his hand, he dragged his teeth along the length, earning himself a sharp tug of his hair. T.J. released him, edging closer so he could put his hands on Ransom’s thighs, pushing up on his knees so he could get a better angle. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he swallowed Ransom down, taking as much of him as he could, loving that he tipped his hips up to push himself further down T.J’s throat.

Spurred on by the absolutely obscene sounds coming from Ransom’s mouth, T.J. hollowed his cheeks and sucked him down, bobbing his head as he worked him over, using his hands and his mouth to get Ransom off as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long before Ransom’s thighs were trembling and an utterly filthy groan left him as he let go, emptying himself down T.J.’s throat.

T.J. fell on his ass, sprawled out on the floor, palming his aching cock. Ransom launched himself off the couch, his pants still undone, falling over T.J. It took him mere seconds to open T.J.’s pants and yank them down, then he had T.J. in his hand, stroking him roughly.

T.J. arched his back and pushed himself into Ransom’s hand, his overstimulated body burning with need. Incoherent moans fell from his lips, swallowed by Ransom’s mouth on his, kissing him breathless as he jerked him off.

T.J. was wound so tight that it only took a few seconds of Ransom touching him before he let go, spilling over Ransom’s hand, his entire body shaking in the aftermath of his intense climax.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, his fingers digging into Ransom’s shoulders, shuddering.

Ransom released him and rolled to his back, panting. “We shouldn’t have waited so long to do that,” he mumbled. “Next time, we won’t.”

T.J. turned to Ransom, resting his head on one hand. “Next time? So, there’s gonna be a next time?”

Ransom sat up, smirking. “Hell, yeah. I didn’t spend weeks pursuing you just to have you for one night. You’ll be back.”

T.J. swallowed, his throat clicking. “You think so?”

Ransom leaned over and pressed a kiss to T.J.’s lips. “I know so.”

T.J.’s head was spinning, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of Ransom or because of the drugs. Not that he cared. Both were good. Very, very good.

He’d be back. No doubt about it. Ransom just might be his new addiction. 


End file.
